Dumas seemed lost for a moment, unable to focus. That is when Shasee saw his opportunity. He focused on the Wyldling, on the strings of chaotic magic all around them, the ones strummed to frenetic vibration with all the ambient magic and wild passions there that day, and he pulled the strings together. The demented woman turned and focused on him, a smile stretching her already-possessed face into an almost transcendent leer. She advanced, twirling the blade without feeling the weight of it.
“Die!” Shasee cried. He pulled at a thread of Wyldling magic and hurled it at her. The thread lengthened into an arrow, shot straight and true as though from a bow.
Dumas’s blade tried to intercept the attack, but she was too slow. The arrow sunk into her shoulder; the shaft bubbled and the leather around the wound disintegrated. Dumas screamed in pain and yanked the arrow free. The acid coating the arrow sizzled against her glove, but she pulled it off before the acid ate through it.
Shasee had her attention now.
Par-Salian raced for the camp, past the startled group of sorcerers. His legs burned with exhaustion, his heart shrinking at the growing howls of the unearthly. Before anyone could stop him, however, the sorcerers left behind to protect the camp shouted and pointed. Par-Salian glanced back and regretted doing so. Two of the undead monsters that Ladonna had called blight shades were racing for the six sorcerers who had stood their ground. Behind them, another pack of nine ran straight for the camp.
Only one sorcerer had managed to unleash a spell, but Par-Salian hissed a curse. Damn the caster for his inexperience; it was the wrong spell. A pattern of colors filled the air, meant to dazzle and enchant the attackers, but the undead were not easily beguiled. They broke easily through the rainbow hues and immediately leaped atop the sorcerer. He screamed as they putrefied him alive, his skin rotting and sloughing off.
Par-Salian stopped. The only way to save the camp was to stop the creatures from attacking. He had to stand and fight. He had to give the sorcerers a chance to survive.
The remaining sorcerers were stabbing and bludgeoning the two blight shades with their staves. Only one had the wherewithal to unleash a spell; she was a young girl with milky skin and almond eyes. She motioned and the tip of her stave glowed suddenly with wild arcane magic. She drove it down into the undead creature, impaling it and pinning it to the ground, struggling to keep it rooted while her compatriots finished it off. They didn’t see the half dozen blight shades bounding toward them.
Par-Salian pulled a ball of bat guano and sulfur from his pouch. His arms moved in broad strokes, like a monk practicing a kata, and the ball of guano ignited.
The sorcerers seemed confused. They knew Par-Salian, knew him as a spy. And yet he was helping them.
“Prepare yourselves!” Par-Salian shouted, drawing their attention back to the deadly enemy. He was going to need all the help he could get if they hoped to survive.
The attacks were scattered, uncoordinated, like a swarming of insects. More blight shades poured through the iris in the heavens, and while individually they proved no match for most sorcerers there, their strength was in their numbers.
Ladonna continued toward the ritual circle, spells curling off her fingers as she smote the undead. She was a dozen feet away, watching Tythonnia, Berthal, and the others struggle against the rooting effect of the curse. Three more creatures loped toward her, but she was ready with killing spells.
The first spell to roll off her tongue spent the fold of red cloth in her other hand and evaporated from her mind. The blister of swollen grass rose from the ground before a carpet of biting insects erupted from the earth. They swarmed up the arms and feet of the blight shades, biting and dying as the undead aura of decay overtook them. One of the creatures stumbled into the mass of writhing insects and thrashed about as they instantly covered its body.
The other two creatures dashed away from the patch of insects, trying to escape the devouring death.
Ladonna never felt calmer. Her test had involved necromancy unchecked and waves of undead assailing her. She survived that. She was ready for what challenged her now. Ladonna motioned the insects to clear a path for her. They did, overtaking another blight shade that seemed to melt into their mass. She reached the ritual circle.
Dumas and Shasee were engaged in battle, sword against undamaged staff, feints leading into attacks, blows blocked, and parries opening the opponent up to fast-cast spells. Shasee struck Dumas with an open palm that sent a jolt through her body. Dumas responded by speaking an arcane word and twisting the blade so a flash of light nearly blinded them all. Ladonna was impressed with Shasee’s skill. The Wyldling sorcerer was more competent than she gave him credit for.
The blight shades, meanwhile, were busy attacking Dumas’s men. The mercenaries fought a retreating battle, so Ladonna didn’t bother with them.
The ritual circle itself was corrupted, the sanctity of it despoiled. Ladonna crossed the circle, bringing the insects along with her. Blight shades landed all around her, but the swarm always attacked those closest, sending the creatures into thrashing spasms.
The circle was too large and powerful a spell to disrupt entirely, but like all chains, all she needed to find was a weak link. She grabbed Tythonnia’s arm and for a moment, studied the panicked look in her friend’s face.
She’d broken the circle, and Tythonnia collapsed into Ladonna’s arms. The others slumped to the ground, except for Berthal, who steadied himself on his staff.
The iris, however, remained above them. The creatures that were dropping through seemed confused for a moment. Then they hissed in anger. Everyone inside the circle was suddenly fair game.
Three blight shades tackled Kinsley as he lay on the ground. They tore into him with a fierce vengeance, rotting him alive as he screamed and fought until his tendons could no longer hold him together. Another two lunged for a man in the circle Ladonna knew vaguely, Hundor she believed; he flicked his head at the undead, sending them both flying.
Berthal swept his staff around, his eyes white with Wyldling energy. An orb of fire appeared between the two dragon heads and spit out in a gush of flame as he swept the staff in a wide arc. He caught three creatures in the blaze, obliterating them.
Ladonna looked around in wonderment as she helped Tythonnia to her feet. It was utter pandemonium. The fight was everywhere, the number of creatures increasing steadily despite the many they had killed while the number of humans grew fewer by the minute. The blight shades were simply overwhelming them.
In the distance, more screams could be heard. Ladonna didn’t need to see the camp to know the creatures were there already.
More blight shades dropped through the hole, some attacking, some running toward the camp or the men with Dumas, some simply trying to escape their prison. How anyone would survive that day, Ladonna didn’t know.
Shasee struggled in the battle. Dumas alone was a skilled opponent, worthy of his full attention, but the constant threat of the creatures added to his peril. He saw one of the sorcerers by his side fall to one of the dread beings and couldn’t save him. The other closest sorcerer, a woman by the name of Calyasy, was struggling to protect him while he fought Dumas. Calyasy had no spells left, however, and she fought with her staff.
Suddenly, Calyasy screamed, and Shasee barely caught a glimpse of her as the undead dragged her to the ground.
It was the distraction Dumas needed; Shasee realized his mistake as soon she deflected his staff and
